


Pink Hearts

by dansunedisco



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Everyone Is Alive, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Future Fic, M/M, Minor Allison Argent/Isaac Lahey/Scott McCall, Minor Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Minor Malia Tate/Kira Yukimura, Minor Melissa McCall/Sheriff Stilinski, Multi, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-13 05:35:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3369734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dansunedisco/pseuds/dansunedisco
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Lydia was single. She had been for a long time now.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pink Hearts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [punkhale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/punkhale/gifts).



Lydia was single. She had been for a long time now. After Jackson, and Aiden, and a brief moment in senior year where both she and Allison came to realize that their love was more platonic in nature than not--she decided to focus on herself. Double majoring in college was a fine distraction, as was pouring most of her free time into discovering _what_ , exactly, being a banshee was all about. It felt like only a blink of an eye had gone by when, in fact, it had been three and a half years since she had Scott and Isaac and Stiles packing her tiny Toyota with all her worldly belongings and hugging everyone goodbye.

She took a deep breath, fingers squeezing the steering wheel as she drove past the sign welcoming her back to Beacon Hills. Then took another as she drove through downtown and saw the huge banner announcing the town’s _Third Annual Valentine’s Day Celebration_. It was bad luck, but mostly stupid coincidence, that she was back in town the week before the fourteenth. Allison had warned her before she’d left on what to expect, this weeklong spectacle, but this (pink and white and cupid’s arrows on every corner) was downright garrish, tasteless. And that mild, burning horror she felt upon seeing it all had nothing at all to do with the voice in the very, very back of her mind reminding her she had no one to celebrate with. 

As Stiles would have said it, she was _forever alone_. 

It was--sad, almost. Her most intimate, interpersonal moments these days were with the cute barista at her local cafe while the rest of the pack had successfully paired off in the years between; the inevitable Stiles and Derek, the unconventional yet unsurprising Allison-Isaac-Scott trio, Kira and Malia, Boyd and Erica. Even Sheriff Stilinski and Melissa had made it official. The only one left standing, as far as she knew, was Cora Hale; who, according to Stiles’s frequently unprompted updates, was still in Bogota.

It was too bad, too. Cora would have been the perfect partner to spend the week with, if Lydia had to choose anyone. She was just the right amount of droll and sarcastic to make the tacky season of love _somewhat_ bearable. 

The last time they’d met was in New York City for--believe it or not--fashion week. Cora was a photojournalist now, renown for her uncanny ability to find the shots no one else could or would. She had been contracted out, wearing a press pass around her neck, shoving her way through the crowd in tight black pants and a white crop top.

“Can’t beat the paycheck,” she’d said, when Lydia had cornered her by the untouched shrimp bar. 

It was something like a crime against humanity, to have someone so blase in the pit, but Cora had indulged Lydia’s demand to be snapped in the vicinity of Kanye and Kim and Anna Wintour so it had all worked out. Lydia sighed fondly at the memory--her arms had looked so, so toned in that dress--but her mood promptly soured when she rounded the corner onto Main.

“Garlands,” she spat, furious on behalf of event planner’s everywhere. “Heart-shaped garlands.”

 

-

 

“What is wrong with this town?” Lydia called out. 

“Besides the supernatural fuckery that defined our teen years?” 

Lydia stopped short halfway through Allison’s door, suitcase bumping into the back of her heels. “Cora,” she said, quickly recovering from her shock with a smile. Last she checked, she hadn’t driven down into Colombia, so-- “What are you doing here?” 

Cora folded her arms across her chest, looking exasperated and unfairly tanned in equal measure. “I’m guessing Stiles neglected to tell you I was back in town.” 

“He did,” she replied, stomach twisting for a reason she didn’t have the time or patience to examine. She stepped into the foyer, yanking the suitcase behind her. The hardwood would have to be collateral damage, apologies to Allison. “Just as well. Have you seen what they did to downtown?”

“Oh, just wait until you see the fairgrounds.”

 

-

 

The worst of Lydia’s imagination couldn’t compare. “I need to have serious words with city council,” she said, scowling her way through the throngs of the infatuated. There was a tunnel of love that smelled like both chlorine and pond water; a ferris wheel with a giant, flashing heart at its core. It was atrocious, like someone had tossed darts at a pinterest board and chose whatever stuck.

“You’ve been back a week,” Cora said. She had been lingering at Lydia’s side all night, the rest of the pack pulled into the festivities, unapologetic groups of kids in love. “Don’t you think it’s too soon for town domination?” 

Lydia shot her a look.

“Right, I keep forgetting,” she replied. “Lydia Martin waits for no grace period.” 

“That’s right.”

Cora tugged on the lapel of Lydia’s jacket. “Come on then,” she said. “We should check for rust on the rides.”

 

-

 

There was no rust, only freshly-sprayed pink beams and grease coating the gears. But the view up top (beyond the parking lot and the flashing lights) was maybe, almost, worth the price of admission. 

They’d been rotating for fifteen quiet minutes, stopped at the top for two. Everyone got a turn on high and now it was theirs. When the wind whipped up, Cora half-turned in the ridiculous swan shaped carriage. Her hair was flying free, almost as long as it had been when they were in high school. 

“I like romance,” she said suddenly. “I like grand gestures.” Then: “I flew back when I found out you were--coming home. I made Stiles promise to keep it quiet.” 

Lydia laughed into the breeze, hands shooting out to grab Cora’s when she pulled back, embarrassed. Her thoughts whirred, Cora’s fashion week presence finally clicking into place. Lydia was a genius, and ashamed that it had taken her so long to figure it out. NatGeo photographers didn’t _do_ the pap stroll. “Why didn’t you say anything?” she asked. “That was three seasons ago.” 

“It’s--” a Hale thing, went unsaid, because Derek and Stiles had gone through the same, emotionally constipated dance. Theirs, however, had been less of an international affair. “You were in New York. I was traveling. I wanted it to work.” 

The ferris wheel jerked back into motion. Lydia stomach swooped as they descended. She was back now, though if it was _for good_ was still up for debate. “I’m not in New York anymore,” she said. “And I always wanted to travel.”

Cora smiled. “Come on then,” she said, tugging Lydia up and out of the ride.


End file.
